


Protector

by Sinister_Kid



Series: Lion, 9:41 Dragon [13]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, More Complicated Than A Dwarven Puzzle Box, Protective Cullen Rutherford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinister_Kid/pseuds/Sinister_Kid
Summary: Adaar is injured and Cullen is not happy about it.
Relationships: Male Adaar/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Lion, 9:41 Dragon [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1157210
Comments: 17
Kudos: 39





	Protector

Cullen Rutherford was absolutely _livid_.

The assault on the Shrine of Dumat bore no fruit, and seemed for all intents and purposes to be a wasted effort, as well as a waste of good, dependable soldiers. Good men, that all but died for nothing. Raleigh Samson had not been at the keep, he’d already escaped, as if he’d anticipated an attack, and his Tranquil associate, Maddox, had poisoned himself with blightcap essence, for which there was no antidote. The keep had been lit ablaze, and the only thing that survived the fires were some bits of Maddox’s notes, and the tools he used to make Samson’s armor.

It was very little, but there was the possibility that their arcanist could study those tools, maybe even reverse engineer Maddox’s design through their configuration, and they could find away to destroy Samson’s Red Lyrium armor. It was better than nothing, and helped ease Cullen’s worry over Samson escaping justice. But what had him so upset at camp after the battle was not the situation with Samson. That he could’ve handled. But during the battle a Red Lyrium behemoth had injured the Inquisitor, who currently nursed a broken collar bone and several lacerations.

He could’ve been killed. He’d saved Cullen’s life when he’d taken the blow that was meant for him, but at the price of his own personal safety. That, in short, was why the Commander paced angrily at the Inquisition’s camp site, clenching both fists, broiling with rage, while nearby Dorian tended to Ataashi’s wounds, and Bull silently watched the Commander’s manic pacing while sharpening his duel bladed axe. “Commander would you kindly cease your antics?” Dorian begged. “You’re breaking my concentration!”

Ignoring Dorian’s request, Cullen whipped sharply to face the Inquisitor again, who sported a matching scowl when Cullen raged, “What were you thinking?!”

“Commander, please-”

“You could’ve been killed!”

“Yeah, well, I was a bit preoccupied with keeping you from being _beheaded_ , if I recall correctly!” Ataashi snapped, then winced, in slight pain.

“Hold still, you beast,” Dorian scolded him.

Cullen would feel guilty about upsetting the Inquisitor’s injuries by arguing with him, but he felt rather vindicated instead. Served him right, in the Commander’s opinion. His actions could’ve ended his life, and then where would they be, without their leader, their Inquisitor, and the only one capable of closing Fade rifts. “You should not be throwing yourself in front of others and putting your life on the line, Inquisitor!” Cullen snapped. Then added, “At least not so carelessly.”

“Oh, what, so I was just supposed to let you die?!”

“Yes!” Cullen exclaimed.

“ _Cullen_ -”

“It was my own foolishness, Inquisitor. My own mistake that I should have allowed that creature to best me in combat. You should not have thrown yourself in front of me like that. Bull, Dorian, myself, and all these men here, should be making such sacrifices for _you_ , Inquisitor. Not the other way around. Without you, we lose our only means of sealing the Fade rifts. We lose our leader! Do you not understand how invaluable you are?! Without you, our entire organization crumbles! If I or any of us must die in order for you to live, then so be it!”

Evidently what fell from Cullen’s lips was entirely the _wrong_ thing to say, because Ataashi’s nostrils flared in anger and he shoved away from Dorian with a huff, smoke billowing from the Dragon’s maw like an true winged serpent as he limped away from camp. “Where do you think you’re going?! Get back here!” Cullen snapped at him, but the Inquisitor ignored him and disappeared into the woods nearby. “Maker damn you,” he growled in the wake of his departure, then turned back to see both Bull and Dorian glaring in disapproval at him. “What?!” he snarled.

“Must you lose your temper at a time like this?” Dorian admonished, setting aside the bandages he held and rising to his feat. “He’s already injured, Commander. Now you’re going to lecture him like a child? The deed is already done. Now is not the time to bark at him like some rabid mabari for something there is no changing.”

Cullen wanted to seethe at that, and was seconds away from doing just that very thing, and barking at the mage like some rabid hound, but he managed to hold it in. Dorian was right. There truly was no point in raising his voice at the Inquisitor. But he was just angry, and the part of him that cared deeply for Ataashi, as more than just his friend, or his second in command, agonized over almost losing him in the fight. Ataashi’s bones being shattered and blood being spilled, and the thought of him dying, was absolutely terrifying for Cullen.

He’d never realized just how much he truly cared for Ataashi until nearly losing him, and it was all Cullen’s fault. Because he’d stepped wrong, and failed to avoid the fatal blow that would have been delivered, if not for Ataashi shoving him out of the way and taking the brunt of it instead. His enchanted armor had taken most of the damage, and Dorian managed to heal the worst of what had been done, but still. That could’ve been the end of Ataashi Adaar. All because of Cullen’s mistake.

Perhaps he lashed out at the Inquisitor simply because he was so angry at himself.

Maybe it was the lingering effects of exposure to Red Lyrium messing with his mind, amplifying his emotions, but Cullen sighed, hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

“So I’m in the wrong, am I?” he asked Dorian. “I’m _wrong_ to be concerned about the Inquisitor’s carelessness?”

“I’m not saying that, Cullen,” Dorian told him as he wiped the blood from his hands. Ataashi’s blood. Cullen tried to avoid looking at it as much as possible. “All I’m saying is there’s no point in kicking a dead horse. What’s done is done, Commander. All you’ve managed to accomplish is make Ataashi think you’re not even _grateful_ for what he did.”

“I am,” Cullen insisted. “It’s only…it’s only that he shouldn’t have had to do that in the first place. I should have been more careful. I should be the one protecting him.”

And as soon as Cullen heard himself blurt that out, he realized why he was so angry.

Because he’d failed to protect the Inquisitor.

He already failed him once at Haven, and now...

“Yes, well, getting irate about it won’t fix that either,” the mage remarked. 

Dorian left the camp site in search of Ataashi, probably to try to convince him to come back, rest, and allow the Altus to apply more healing magic to his wounds. Some of the soldiers had been neglecting their duties in favor of listening in on their conversation, so Cullen barked, “Back to work, all of you!” The soldiers scattered in a rush to assemble camp, and the Iron Bull huffed, but continued sharpening his blade without a word to say. Cullen folded his arms and regarded him for a moment. Bull was being unusually quiet for some strange reason.

“You’re being awfully quiet for a loud, obnoxious Tal-Vashoth mercenary,” Cullen commented, stepping closer to Bull, who snorted a little at that.

He shrugged, and said, “I get it. You’re worried about Ataashi. You _should_ be. He’s important. But try convincing _him_ of that.”

He set his axe aside, the whetstone next to it, and rested his elbows on his knees.

“See, the thing is, Commander, that the Boss knows he’s needed. Knows he’s valuable. No one else can do what he can. No one can close rifts. That’s why he goes out and fights demons on a regular basis. But Ataashi doesn’t see himself as better or more important than anyone else. Vital to the Inquisition’s success? Yeah, sure. But invaluable?” Bull smirked a little. “Doesn’t click. The Dragon takes his job to protect Thedas very seriously, Commander. More serious than you’ll ever know. But he’s not going to sit back and let good people die if he can help it.”

Cullen sighed. “I realize this,” he said. “But none of us can afford to let him make sacrifices like that, Bull. It’s our duty to protect him so that he can continue to protect the rest of Thedas.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bull agreed. “And I’ve been trying to convince him that he can’t always be everyone’s shield.” He snorted. “He said ‘barrier’ makes a better metaphor, but I hate talking about magic shit. Anyway, he can’t always throw himself in between all of us and everything else, but here’s the thing Commander: we can’t always put ourselves between him and the bad guys either. There are times when we’ll have to sit it out, get out of the way, so he can do his job. But Ataashi is never going to think he’s more important that anyone. Big people, little people, he’ll treat them all the same.”

“He saved your life, Commander, and that scares you,” Bull added, seeing right through Cullen with that sharp eye of his. “That Ataashi Adaar decided _your_ life was more valuable than his, and you don’t know how to handle that.”

True. He didn’t. Because he didn’t like what it implied.

Cullen shifted uncomfortably for a moment, rubbing the kink in the back of his neck.

He could have skirted Bull’s statement, or dismissed it entirely, but there would be no point. Cullen was most certain that the harder he tried to deny Bull’s words, the more convinced the Qunari would become that he was right, that Cullen didn’t know how to handle the Inquisitor making such a sacrifice for him. That he… _cared_ about Cullen. Ataashi Adaar wasn’t the only person that wasn’t used to others caring for them. Cullen didn’t know how to react to it either. Of course his _family_ had cared, but being a Templar meant being the one to make those sacrifices for others.

Just like Ataashi, Cullen too had been merely a tool to be used and then discarded when no longer needed. Expendable, not indispensable. But instead of serving the Qun, Cullen served the Chantry. As a Templar he was no more privileged than the next man. Matter of fact, he’d had _more_ privilege as a Templar than his humble background as the son of a farmer would ever have allowed for. They were not divided by race or class, but instead defined by their deeds in service to the Maker. It was a selfless job, with seldom reward, but once upon a time it had made Cullen feel worthwhile.

Like he’d had a purpose, even if that purpose was merely to be someone’s sword and shield.

But that had been his purpose.

It was all he knew.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said to Bull, after a moment of contemplative silence.

“Yeah, I am,” Bull noted. “But you already knew this.”

* * *

Later that night, when the Inquisition finished setting up camp, soldiers were assigned to the nightly watch, would be rotated partway through the night, and the Inquisition’s inner circle found their bed rolls. Cullen couldn’t sleep, of course, and was stuck wandering camp partway through the night, thinking about his argument with Ataashi, and Bull’s words after the fact. Dorian had convinced the Inquisitor to return to camp, and he rested for a little while. Cullen didn’t know how to begin making amends so he’d simply left Ataashi alone to heal.

But that night, as he wandered through camp, he was startled to find none other than Ataashi Adaar leaving his tent and taking a stroll. He paused in step and watched for a moment, debating on whether or not to approach, reminded of the many nights at Haven he’d find the Dragon out wandering the training yard. Their nightly strolls through the Inquisition’s encampment tucked in the Valley of Sacred Ashes, their conversations. He’d missed those days. When everything was strange and new, but seemed much simpler compared to now.

After a moment, Cullen quickened his pace to catch up with the towering figure, who’s arm was wrapped in a sling as his injury healed. He tried not to be too loud, but also not be too quiet as to startle the Inquisitor. “Commander,” Ataashi greeted with a frown when he saw the golden haired warrior approaching. He didn’t look overly joyed to see Cullen, but he paused in step all the same so that Cullen could catch up to him. Slowed his pace as well, so that Cullen could walk beside him. “Going to lecture me about not resting?” he grumbled.

Cullen huffed at that. “Would it do any good?”

“Probably not, no,” Ataashi admitted, to which Cullen sighed and shook his head at the stubborn kossith.

“I thought not,” he said. Wouldn’t work on Cullen either, if he were in the Inquisitor’s place. He didn’t like being idle. Only if his legs were broken would he ever sit still, and ever since he’d stopped taking Lyrium he was even more restless than usual. It was why he’d trouble sleeping. “But I would ask you _why_ you’re not resting, when you should be,” Cullen added, stepping over a loose branch that had fallen as they walked. In the torchlight, he saw the giant’s frown deepen on his face, though it might’ve only been a trick of the fire light.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Ataashi said simply. “Kind of hard to do that when my whole left side feels like it’s being ripped to pieces.”

“I thought Dorian brought elixirs for the pain?”

“He did. But it still hurts.”

Cullen’s heart raced, thinking of what to say, if now would be a good time to mention their previous conversation, to try to apologize. He hated apologizing, because it meant admitting he was wrong about something, and he didn’t feel like he was in the wrong. His anger had been entirely justified. Ataashi had nearly died, all because of Cullen. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh with the mage, but if they lost Inquisitor Adaar, Corypheus would win, and the world would fall to chaos. If he died because of Cullen…

Well, Cullen could never live with himself, knowing that.

“I should not have lost my temper,” he finally said, to which Ataashi sighed.

He stopped in the middle of the path and turned to face Cullen.

“No, it’s alright, I get it,” he said. “You were right. Without me, there’s no one to close rifts. I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Cullen frowned at how tersely those words were spoken. The Dragon was still angry. It made the Lion of Ferelden equally furious. But he managed to rein in his temper this time around and not snap at the man. Instead he calmly said, “It would be most wise, Inquisitor. But…I _do_ understand how you feel. I know it must difficult to deal with that sort of responsibility. Especially considering your background.” Some of Ataashi’s anger slipped away at that. Not all, but some. “All you had to do was follow orders. Now, _you’re_ making the decisions that deem whether someone lives…or dies.”

Ataashi sucked in a breath through his nose, and let it out slow, dark eyes flitting over Cullen’s features. Evidently, Cullen had managed to pinpoint precisely why the Inquisitor was angry, and cut right to the heart of the issue. His words struck the needed chord. Ataashi shifted, then turned and found a nearby fallen log on which to rest, not winded from the walk, but simply wishing to sit. He winced a little when he seated himself on the log, bracing himself with his good arm. 

“I couldn’t save everyone at Haven,” Atasshi said after getting somewhat comfortable. Well, as comfortable as could be, all things considered. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t. We both know not everyone was going to make it out of that valley. Sacrifices had to be made, but…I dunno, I just…I hoped it would be over, you know? After ending the war between the Circle mages and your Order, closing the Breach, that we could all pack up and go home. Job finished. Maybe I might spend some time cleaning up the mess the Breach made, closing the rifts, but I never expected…all this.”

“And it seems the farther we go along,” Ataashi continued, “The harder it gets. We lost a lot of good people today. I– _We_ nearly lost you too. I don’t…I don’t think I could live with myself if…if you…”

Cullen swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew exactly how the Dragon felt. He was tempted to rush to him right then, take that beautiful face into his hands, cradle it, and say, ‘You won’t lose me, Taash. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.’

But he didn’t, and instead told him, “It’s a sacrifice I would’ve been happy to make, Inquisitor.”

“Cullen-”

“You’re not _bas_ anymore, Ataashi. You’re a person with feelings. You’re not expendable, and you never were. You’re the Inquisitor, and you’re my friend. You’re going to have to get used to people caring about you.”

Ataashi grunted at that, but didn’t argue, just stared at Cullen’s boots.

“I'm not used to it either,” he then admitted to the mage. “Somone caring...A-Actually mattering to someone.”

Now that he was sitting, Cullen had to look down instead of up to make eye contact, and shifted from one foot to the other, reflexively placing his hand on the hilt of his blade as he stood. “Did anyone ever tell you why the Templars’ heraldry is a sword wrapped in flames?” he asked out of hand, and Ataashi looked up, shaking his head. “I thought not…You can find it in any textbook, or simply ask a cleric of course, but essentially, the flames symbolize purification, as Andraste had been purified by flames when burned on the pyre during the first Exalted March. 

The sword of course symbolizes our duty to protect Thedas from magical threats. To strike down its foes, like a sword. That’s what we were. The sword of the Maker. That was my purpose, as a Templar.” As Cullen spoke, Ataashi’s gaze softened, almost like he understood perfectly where Cullen was going with this. “We were not divided by race or class. We were equal in the Maker’s eyes, and judged only by our deeds. But…we were all just…mindless _tools_ , driven by Lyrium, following blindly. Striking down anything and everything we deemed a threat, with no differentiation.

Because that’s what a sword is meant to do, is it not? To be wielded? A sword doesn’t question what it strikes down, whether it’s truly right or wrong to do so, it simply fulfills its purpose, nothing more. It’s…only a sword, after all.” Cullen cleared his throat a little and added, “So believe me when I say, Inquisitor, that I understand the burden you carry. It’s not easy being thrust with such responsibility. We’re people, Inquisitor. We’re flawed, and we’re not always going to make the right decisions, but we do the best we can, and you have a responsibility to keep _all_ of Thedas safe. Not only me.

You cannot value one life over another too greatly. Only protect as many as you can, with what means you have.” He stepped closer and rested a hand lightly on Ataashi’s shoulder. “Not everyone is going to walk away from this. You cannot cast a magical barrier around all of Thedas and protect every single one of us, Taash. No mage is that powerful. But you _can_ allow others to be your shield. Myself, Dorian, the Iron Bull, and everyone else at your command. Stop flinging yourself so frivolously into danger and allow us to protect you, Ataashi, so that you can protect Thedas.”

“I don’t want people dying for me, Cullen,” Ataashi spoke, quietly, barely able to meet Cullen’s gaze, but he forced him to, gently lifting his chin with a gloved finger.

“I would gladly stand between you and any threat, so that you may stand with us all against Corypheus, Inquisitor. A thousand times over. And I wouldn’t regret it.”

Though maybe Cullen’s reasons might be a bit more selfish than some.

He pulled away, giving Ataashi some space, but the kossith looked much better. Still upset, but not angry, just…humbled, perhaps. The gravity of Cullen’s words sinking in.

“If I have not said so, thank you, for saving my life. Just…maybe don’t do it again.”

“I’m still going to,” Ataashi swore, slowly rising to his feet. Cullen offered an arm to help him up, having to brace himself and plant both feet firmly in the dirt to keep the mage balanced as he stood. He’d rolled his eyes at the Inquisitor’s declaration. “You’d have done the same thing for me.”

“I would have, yes, but my reasons would be far more selfish, I’m afraid,” he admitted, then blinked at how easily he’d admitted that. He never would have, before. The Inquisitor lifted a brow in surprise.

“You? Selfish? Didn’t think that was possible, Commander.”

Cullen scoffed at that. “You should get some rest, Inquisitor,” he urged, dodging that remark.

“You too, Cullen. Don’t waste all my efforts to keep you alive and safe only to die of exhaustion.”

Cullen sighed. “I’ll take that under advisement. Goodnight, Taash.”

Ataashi finally smiled, at the familial shortened version of his name, then tilted his head to Cullen before heading back to camp.


End file.
